While thinking of you
by Nemu Black Parade
Summary: Gerard is a depressed young man who tries to commit suicide in the same train where his real life had begun... English version of "Depression of the young literati" by the same authoress. Frerard. AU rated T for suicide themes.


**Hi! I know I've uploaded this story on DeviantArt, but I wanted to have it here, too. Don't ask why.  
**

**I used to have it in the same story as its Spanish version, but I noticed recently that was not a good idea, so... here it is. English is not my mother language, so please forgive me if you see any mistake.  
**

**Hope you love it ^^**

_**MCR is not mine [what a pity].**_

**_Depression of the Young Literati, too._**

**RIP My Chemical Romance (2001-2013)  
**

* * *

I went alone into the train station, slowly, but determinedly. Nothing could stop me in that moment. I went straight to the office and asked for a ticket for the train I usually took. The lady in there took her time on giving it to me, staring at me with a strange look from time to time while doing it.

I don't know what she was supposed to see; at first glance, I was any different than a mere college student with an innocent and heavy bag where I had my laptop, a book, my wallet and a few things more. Anyway, I'm sure she was unable to suspect what I was hiding inside of it.

After paying for my ticket, I went to the platform, sat in a random bench and started to read peacefully. While reading, I couldn't help to listen to every sound floating in that huge space (the rattling and whistling of the trains over the tracks, the ringing of someone's mobile, pointless conversations...). At some point, I stopped reading: all of that was bringing to my mind distant memories, all of them with a thing in common: you. Over and over again, I evoked your smell, your touch... that prankish glitter I always saw in your beautiful, brown eyes... your childish giggle, your voice, your kisses...

_I miss you so much_, I thought, and a tear fell in one of the pages of the book.

A little girl stood suddenly in front of me. I dried my tears in a hurry and looked at her with hostility.

"Excuse me, sir, but... Have you seen my wallet? It's pink, and small, and there's an image of Hello Kitty with an umbrella on..."

"No, girl", I said, moodily, trying to focuse myself on the book. "I haven't seen your wallet".

"But, sir, are you sure you haven't...?"

"No, fuck, I already told you that I haven't seen it! Go away and leave me alone, dammit!"

That girl remained there for a while, frozen, looking at me, with tears threatening to come out from her eyes. I felt bad about that, but, before I could stand up and apologize properly, she ran out of there.

I slumped on the bench, wishing I could smoke and wondering about what you would have done if you were me. Maybe you would have said a polite "no", but you would have wanted to help her. Or maybe you would have lectured me due to my rude manners. But I couldn't care less. Since you were here no longer, there was no use on being a good person.

The train rattled monotonically over the railway, while, at the same time, a lively voice announced its arrival by PA. I closed the book, leaving among the pages I was reading the red bookmark you gave me. I boarded the train and, with me, hundreds of people, too; but I knew that, at halfway, that train would be empty. And, since we—I had to go always to the last station, I'd soon have all the train for myself.

Inside it, I walked until I stepped into the last wagon, the same one in which you and I used to travel, and sat in the first seat I saw.

Absentmindedly, I looked outside the window. Between station and station, grey and green lightnings, with an occasional tunnel in between, circulated in an enormous speed on the other side. Twisted in my seat, I tilted my head until my right temple touched the cold glass of the window. In that moment, I sighed.

You and I met for the first time in that wagon.

.

_Gerard stared in annoyance at the passenger who sat next to him. Without even asking, he was trying to read his new book over his shoulder._

_"Look here, dude, I don't fucking know who you are, but, damn, don't ever try to read over my shoulder again. You're annoying!"_

_"I'm sorry", the other apologised. His fringe, dyed in blue, covered his brown eyes when he tilted his head and uttered with a childish voice: "I can't help it, he's my favourite novelist"._

_"Oh, really? Wow...". He turned his head to the other side, feeling his own face suddenly burning. "He's also mine. With this little one, I have now all his books, and I love reading them. Oh, by the way, name's Gerard"._

_The other student looked at him, smiling sheepishly._

_"Nice to meet you, I'm Frank"._

.

You and I became friends in that wagon.

You and I began to date thanks to that wagon.

I reached into one of the pockets of the bag and caressed the "No longer human"'s already well-worn spine.

The same book that made us meet each other for the first time.

I took it out very carefully, making a great effort not to let anyone to see the shapeless bundle I had inside my bag. While waiting for the wagon to be empty, I read in silence.

It wasn't too long before I was thankfully alone. Without wasting a second, I closed the book and replaced it with that object wrapped in paper that I had hidden before. But, I don't know, I couldn't open it straightaway: when I saw it, I could only remember the day in which you were gone.

.

_"No! Let me see him!", Gerard shrieked, trying to convince the doctor. He only shook his head._

_"I'm very sorry, but his condition is very bad", he insisted for the umpteenth time. "Only the closest people to him can visit him now"._

_"I'm the closest person to him!", he repeated, without noticing the trail of tears that were running down his cheeks. Suddenly, the strong grip his tense fingers had on the doctor's white coat seemed to lose strength; the same as his legs, by then unable to hold him up, which bent until his knees were in contact with the floor. "Please, please... I beg you... Let me see him... Let me be with him..."_

_An almost inaudible voice pronounced the black-haired young man's name. He rose his head and looked again at the doctor, in an appealingly way._

_"Can you hear him? He's calling me...", he murmured, his voice cracking. "Please, let me in. Let me see him..."_

_The doctor shrugged and sighed in resignation._

_"Okay, okay, you can go"._

_Gerard stood up, drying his tears with the back of his hands and murmuring a tremulous "thank you" before going into the room where Frankie was resting. When he approached the bed, he bent down until he was on his knees and removed delicately some strands from Frankie's face, barely visible through all those tubes and bruises. Frankie opened his eyes very slowly, fixating deeply his light brown eyes in the hazelnut look of his lover._

_"Oh my, am I not more than rubbish, am I...", he said, trying to smile, and rose a hand in an attempt to caress his soft cheek._

_"Don't say that...", more tears came out from his half-opened eyelids, while he squeezed with his hands Frankie's own. "You're going to be OK, you'll see, and we'll go together for a walk, to the cinema, to the theatre, maybe we could travel somewhere..."_

_"No, Gee. I'm not going to 'be OK', and you know it. It was my fault, I should have checked before crossing the street. Gee, hey, Gee...", Frankie called him sweetly, and the black-haired one rose his head, staring directly at the eyes of his beloved one. "Listen carefully, I don't regret anything. I have had a good life: I have had good friends, a family who loved me, you..."_

_"No, please, don't go away, don't leave me...", Gerard sobbed, his voice suddenly harsh, hugging Frankie desperately._

_"I'm sorry, Gee. I wish I could be with you forever, but it can't be. I can feel it, Gee. I'm growing tired and you have no idea... I can't see you properly..."_

_He didn't seem only to be unable to see him. His voice was cracking and getting weaker, until it became a barely audible sound. Gerard felt it, knew it. Frankie's life was escaping from him. Relentlessly. And he couldn't do anything about that. He couldn't stand it._

_"Frankie", he whispered, bringing his mouth to the other's. "I love you..."_

_He kissed him eagerly, desperately, pointing out with that kiss how much he was going to miss him._

_He felt Frankie's slight smile under his lips before he kissed back in his own and unique way. He felt his hands moving hesitantly, crawling over his chest, until they met each other on the back of his head. He kissed him so passionately that he thought he was going to die from asphyxia. But he didn't want it to stop._

_Frankie's lips parted from his carefully, with a weak smile curving slightly them._

_"I love you, Gee..."._

_It wasn't necessary for Gerard to hear the insisted and prolonged beeping of the machine, to which Frankie was connected, to know everything had finished._

_He wasn't there anymore._

_He was _dead_._

_Gerard felt his heart breaking, tearing. He was dead. No. That couldn't be happening. That couldn't be happening!_

_"No, Frankie! Frankiiiiiieee!"_

_He bent his head over the shoulder of the body that had housed Frankie's soul only seconds ago and wept. Doctors came, declared he was dead and covered his face with a blanket in mourning; but he didn't notice it. He wailed, calling Frankie non stop, heartbroken. He couldn't do anything else until he fell asleep over his dead lover's body._

_In that moment, the world became senseless._

.

I removed the wrapping slowly, until it finally came into view.

Strong.

Shining.

Secure.

Deadly.

I stared stupidly at the gun for a long while. Later, I stood up, went to the end of the wagon, near the door, and opened it. I felt the fresh air on my face, and, for a moment, believed it was your hands, caressing me, holding me, urging me. Trembling, I approached the gun to my temple. At any moment, I would pull the trigger and meet you.

The pistol made a low "clic".

_'Don't you dare to do that'_.

I opened my eyes, scared, thinking it was a hallucination of mine. But a small part of me knew it wasn't. You were in front of me. You were looking at me, with a reproving look in your beautiful eyes.

_'Don't even think on pulling that trigger, Gee. What are you thinking of?'_

"You! It's you what I'm thinking of!", I shouted, without caring if someone heard. "I miss you terribly! I hate my life without you! I _can't live_ without you!"

The harshness of those words impacted me deeply for its truthfulness. I was unable to live without him. My breathing became faltering, and, inadvertently, some tears came out from my eyes.

_'I miss you too, Gee. You know, I even pacted with those guys of above. I have to look after you so things go well and I can leave with you. And I will tell you again and again until it gets into that dense head of yours, no. You won't interrupt your life this way. You won't let this to happen to you. I won't allow it'_.

Your voice was not judgmental, but soft, in those last words. You embraced me tenderly, and I felt the real and warm touch of your arms. I hugged you back, still holding that cold gun, and wept silently over your shoulder. You caressed my hair.

_'Don't be so dumb. Don't try to do again this foolishness. Please, live your life. Have a good life. For you, for me...'_. You looked me in the eyes. _'Promise me you will'_.

"I promise", I whispered, tears still coming out from my eyes.

You smiled.

_'That's it...'_, you said, and your face approached mine.

You kissed me. I clung to you. I missed you so much... I kissed you back, feeling myself weak, fragile, helpless. But you were there, and you made me forget those feelings I didn't want to have.

_'Remember your promise...'_.

You vanished.

The train advanced, oblivious to what had just happened.

I looked once more time that tool, which I still held. One shot... a single shot... and we would be together again. But I didn't do that.

Instead of it, I threw the pistol to the railway.

In the moment I did that, I felt myself lighter than before. I'm going to live my life, I promised to myself, and I won't ever expel you from it. Because you're the reason I'm still living.

...

...

*MANY YEARS LATER*

"Excuse me, sir...", says a childish voice in front of me. I look at its owner, kindly.

"Your wallet, right?". I take it out. "I think it's this one, I saw it near the café. Because it's this one, isn't it?"

"Yes!", she exclaims, clapping happily. "Thank you, sir!". She grabs it, gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and goes away, laughing.

Even after all these years, anything has changed, Frankie. The same people, the same station, the same trains. Only the book and I have aged. I've lived my life as you wanted, always thinking about you. I snicker. It is a disconcerting irony that someone as maniac and depressing as me could have had such a happy life.

One that is gradually shortening. Last week I had visited the doctor because my chest hurt and I coughed blood sometimes, and he had told me it was probably I had a lung cancer. But today, I can't feel pain, but peacefulness and confidence, and I don't know why.

The train arrives to the station. I stand up with difficulty, loading all the weight on the cane before taking a step. I thank silently every person that lets me in, feeling pity for a poor helpless old man, and join the crowd that tries to get into the train.

I go, as I always do, to the last wagon, which, oddly, is full of people; but a very kind woman cedes me her seat and, while sitting, I give her a smile in gratitude. Tired, I take out my book, the same one that, since the first time we met, I carry with me as if it was an amulet. I caress its battered, half-broken spine with letters almost faded. The bookmark, which is still there, has decolorized, due to the course of time, and it's orange now. The book pages are half-detached and yellowish. But it's still my greatest treasure.

The train's rattling over the railway relaxes me. It's a sound I have always loved, did you know that? Well, of course you knew, I always told you everything. You were the only one who had managed to make me laugh sincerely, you had helped me to be myself, you had always been there to support me. I owe you so much...

I'm tired, I'm very sleepy... but nothing hurts right now. I close my eyes and fall asleep, with the book resting on my skinny and wrinkled hands...

...I suddenly wake up. My book has fallen with a loud thud and most of the pages have fallen from it. Among them, hidden anywhere, I had my orange bookmark. I stand up to pick it up, and I notice that's no great effort for me. Why is that?

I look at my hands. They are the same way they were when I was young, terse, smooth, without a wrinkle or a spot. I look at my feet. I'm wearing the same _Converse_ I wore _that_ day. Puzzled, I go to the mess of papers that once ago had been my book and try to grab them.

To my surprise, the detached pages turn into white pigeons that move and flutter everywhere.

I raise my arms, without any effort, and can't help to shout in happiness. It's such a beautiful spectacle. They surround me, they flap their wings in front of my eyes. Why can't the other passengers see this? Why is no one noticing it? It's marvelous, it's incredible.

One of them has an orange paper on its beak. My bookmark. It flies to the other side of the wagon, at the end of the train, and I see you. You look at me. I smile at you.

Some pigeons fly away and join you. The others stay behind, pushing me, urging me to go with you. I obey them without wasting a second and I start to walk towards you. While walking, I look at my reflection in the glass and realize I have again the same aspect I had when I was young, the same I had that day, when I tried to make that horrible foolishness.

I finally meet you. We embrace each other. You kiss me.

The pigeon which had my bookmark flutters over us and drops it. That orange card transforms immediately into an orange chain that joins our hands. I look at it, astonished.

_'Are you ready?'_, you say, smiling mischievously, with your free hand on the doorknob.

I smile you back.

"I'm ready", I assure you. And you open it. All the pigeons fly out of this place, causing a stir which the other passengers do realize. We look at each other, smiling, and we jump.

We're not touching the ground. I wonder why, until I look to the ground and notice that, under us, there's only pure whiteness. We're over the pigeons. I start to squeal and laugh like a small child, and you caress my hair with that typical gesture of yours.

In front of us there's a light. It's not the sun. I don't know what it is. But I know I have to go there. With every meter that we approach it, I feel better, and I know we'll be very welcome.

You turn your head and wink at me. That shining surrounds us and I hold your hand tightly.

_'We'll be together, and, from now on, we'll always be...'_.

...

A lady who was sitting at the end of the wagon watched in amazement how the door suddenly opened by itself, letting out a mess of paper, hats and small objects. She stood out from her chair and, making a great effort, closed it. And the violent airstream ceased.

"They should start to think about repairing this train...", she muttered, annoyed.

Her daughter had stood up from their seat, with that restlessness typical of children, and had ran to the origin of most of the papers which had gone out of there.

"Look at this, Mommy", she said. "This book is broken".

The lady, for quite a long time, looked at that broken, old and well-worn book which was opened in a page which said something she couldn't understand. "_Lifetime filled with countless shame, spent with only lies being told..._". Behind the book there was a pair of shoes. She raised a little more her sight and saw an old man, with his walking stick between his hands, which were in a curious gesture, as if they had been holding a book. His eyes were closed, his dry lips were twisted in a tiny smile and he wasn't moving.

"Is that man sleeping, Mommy?", the little girl asked, innocently.

The woman grabbed his daughter's hand and carried her away to their seat, squeezing her lips in a worried frown.

_That man was not sleeping._


End file.
